


The Holy Roman King

by thatdragonchic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark Ages AU, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, F/M, Royalty AU, Scallison, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stydia, This is intense, VERY INTENSE, fight for power, holy rome au, maleo, period drama, prince!scott, prince!stiles, sciles friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic
Summary: The pursuit of power is evanescent yet it captures the world by the divine right to be the next in line to a thrown. Whether taken by knife or by holy right, the line of the crown is the one that everybody wants. The more power the better. And now With Stiles and Lydia stepping up to take the Holy Roman Crown, with Scott facing confliction at home, and a missing traitor plotting doom against the Holy Roman Empire, what is a king to do with the power he possesses? Who is he to protect when the whole world has their swords pointed at him? The answer lies in trust, and if trust can be placed in anybody at all. Even those closest to a King could be his worst Enemy in disguise.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! SO this is just the prologue and I hope you like this! Just a bit of an idea that I've had brewing for quite the while! I plan on fleshing this out, but also I will be finishing WTSMTN!! Leave your thoughts, predictions, and ideas. (It's much appreciated!!) I'll be out with chapter one soon!

P R O L O G U E 

  


“HEAR ye! Hear ye! I pronounce by the word of our Holy Prince that the Holy Roman King Johnathan Stilinski of Rome has been pronounced officially dead! He died in the Battle of Moore’s Pass! Hear Ye! Hear Ye! They thus pronounce the heir to the throne his eldest and only son, Prince Stiles! Hear Ye! Hear Ye! The Holy Roma lives on through the prince! The Holy Roma Lives on through the prince! Long Live the King! Long Live the King!” 

  


The chanting rings through the corridors of the castle, the whole village below them is chanting, and the sounds of the words sadden her, but Lydia holds the child to her young breast, and kisses her head. Her father in law was dead, her mother in law must not be taking well. She thinks her husband must be crushed by this fate, the image he must have foreseen was one she could not imagine herself. Though he would be coming home, and to their new born baby girl, so sweet and small was her child. The child that so kindly suckled at her breast with gums so soft and boneless. So precious was her beloved baby and so sweet was she.

The only right in such a dark, unbecoming world was this child of hers and the husband she should see in due time. He lives. He lives. They’re crying for him in the streets.  _ Long Live the King! Long Live the King! Long Live the King of Holy Rome! _ Though her heart stutters with the prospect he may not be the one to greet her. She fears for them at large, but her head reasons that he should be home. They will greet him with wine and bread, as if he was the holiest. The pope will crown him, crown  _ them.  _ They would be holy and they would rule long, and live well. They would conquer and conquer all. 

The glamour shines behind her mourning eyes. “Your father is to make me a queen,” she whispers to the suckling girl. “I’m to be a queen and you to be our princess. Your father… a king,” she whispers. “The Holy Roman King.”

Lydia hears them still, bellowing below her feet.  _ Long Live the King! Long Live the King! Long Live the Holy Roma!  _

The titles was theirs. The title was hers.

  
  


The title phased him not, as Scott skids to the halt beside him, Stiles still sat beside the stiff body of his father, pale and sick with death and blood. “He’s a traitor.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“He’s a traitor.”

“How do we know that he killed him?”

“Where he is?”

“Nobody knows.”

“He went with them. He betrayed us. He  _ killed  _ my father.”

“He killed him. Now what?”

“We find him, and we kill him next.”

“Stiles?”

“I said we find him and we kill him next. I don’t care by god’s name if you return home to England to tell tail of my fathers death, but I will avenge him. I’ll avenge his title. With or Without you.”

“You’re a king now,” Scott says, he watches Stiles with caution and Stiles rises. 

“I realize that.”

“I stand beside you.”

“Prince of England, you are the loyalest. I’d knight you to my servitude and under my wing take you as a not only a knight or a protector but an advisor. A brother to me, you’ve been. Should you stand beside me in this haut pursuit?”

“For you, anything. He’ll be dead by morning if you command it.”

“You’ll be King of England by next week if it were my wishes.”

“Bless you and all that commends you.”

“Ready the army. No traitor lives on my grounds.”

“Ay.”

Scott clasps his hand and Stiles is visibly harder, more stern. He’s accepted his faith as king, he’s accepted what’s to become of him, and now he stands with pride to take what’s come forth. Looking back to his father once more before his eyes meet the other prince. They were a strong two, they always had been. But now, the two should make the strongest effort to revise the efforts of a traitor. And Stiles should revise the efforts of an army.

Now he was to be King. His crown awaits at home. His acceptance was short but his mourning would be long and the world, as it blackens beneath him, shakes with vigor. He will avenge his father’s shortcoming and be better the man he ever was. With or Without anybody that chose to stand by him. 


	2. Chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King and his army return home

C H A P T E R O N E 

 

The castle was fast approaching with the galloping of the horses, slowing to a trot as they reached the stone pathway to the castle. The workers inside of it were still crying orders, and the villagers in the village that surrounded the castle was slowing to a stop for the evening as twilight settled it’s purple light on the people. A brisk wind settled on them, the days of riding home taking their toll on the whole army. Tired and heavy with exhaustion, Stiles felt like home was miles further than it was before, every step making the longing increase. He never wanted to be in the arms of his wife, warm and safe so much before. He wanted to hold her like she had never been held before.

Yet the weight of Earth settled over him. The Vatican, a few miles away, sung with large bells that reverberated for miles of open air. He could hear them, from his standpoint, clearer than most could. It almost felt like they, the bells, were ringing for him, welcoming him home. The prince left a prince and returned a king. A hollow, and bitter king. There was no glory in power, than there was power in glory. It was the blackest light on the brightest day. 

The gates of the castle are opening and he could hear the men calling about his arrival, he glances to Scott who’s blackish eyes are heavy and his soft features are sagging with sleep. “Should we reach your home, I request a chamber,” he says.

Stiles laughs. “You’ll get your own personal room, a home to your own, Scott Hale.”

“Scott Hale. It never felt like my real name, but it is dearer to me than all else.”

“Well perhaps your parents, whomever they were, would have crowned you with a more valiant name. But what were more valiant than King of England?”

“Who says I’m to be king?”

“Who says thy is not to be king?”

“In truth, there is little the chance I should win over Derek.”

“Little chance you may think, but higher the chance when they mark you a warrior and the Holy Roma’s servant. An honor and a pleasurable King you’d be. Easy to win the hearts of people and easier to win the heart of God. They would shine the goldest light on you and down the angels sing, and up the spirits rise of the dead and the devils and the people, willing to call the name of Scott Hale, the Holiest King to ever rule.”

“And what for you?”

“A black and hollow day we hath forgone.”

“You’re only speaking in mourning. No stronger ruler should ever walk this earth. You’re quite the capable and you’ll walk in God’s Zeal and Shine with every waking morning. A blessed king and an even more blessed warrior.”

“Just barely,” Stiles remarks, the group finally crossing the threshold, a messenger's horse stopping before them with the man in purple robes atop. Stiles eyes widen, pulling his horse to a rearing stop. 

“My King! I have Joyous news for you!”

“Joyous news? What could be joyous in these dark days?”

“Your wife! She’s given way to a child while you were venturing in battle.”

“Lydia’s had a child?” Stiles asks, a certain shock expressed over his furrowed brow and downcast eyes. The darkness seizes for a moment of curiosity. 

“Indeed! She found to be carrying soon after you left, and gave birth just a week or so ago.”

“How does the child fair?”

“She’s healthy. A female though.”

“The girl would be just as blessed as any of my sons.”

The messenger nods, looking up as the rattling of the walkway steps rattle, Lydia running down, her braid bouncing over her shoulders. Wrapped in his white, silk robe. Stiles hops down from the horse and catches her in a hug. “You’re home!” she cheers, laughing. 

“Yes I’m home. And you’re off well. Shouldn’t my dearest be resting in her bed beside our child?”

“Oh All I’ve done is lounge and rest and feed the babe-”

“Have you no nurse?”

“Fear not, my dear. I’m well enough to feed the soft tongue of my child.”

Stiles nods, pressing a kiss to her head and she wraps her arms around his neck. “How does my fair husband fair?”

“I feel as though I might wake up one day and realize the weight of it more dreadfully than I do now.”

Lydia nods, hands moving to brush his hair out of his face. Stiles managing a smile for her. “Come now, you must get bathed and ready for dinner.”

“Of course.” He turns to the messenger. “Get Hale a room and a chamberlain of his own. He’s our guest tonight, not our soldier.” 

The man nods and Scott has hopped down from the horse, petting his snout. “I should go speak to my uncle,” Scott says. “Peter will be so disappointed.”

“To say he doesn’t already know,” Stiles says. “Peter and my father were closer than brothers, but you and I should be the same.”

“If I am king?”

“Then you rule my greatest ally.”

Scott nods and Stiles nods back. “Go speak to him.”

Stiles nods, Lydia taking his hand and he smiles, picking her up like a bride to carry her to their room. Scott watches his friend go, the quick kisses they exchange and hope that nobody sees, (who would dare talk of it if they had?) and he wonders when his time would come to love and be loved. He was sixteen now, with no wife and no lover. He was either destined or doomed, and with no line of heirs, how could he run in this game of thrones? Stiles was just announced a daughter. He was just announced a brother to a new and powerful king. Where does this leave him? What does this bring him?

“Bring me to my chamber, then run to get my uncle. I must speak to him.”

“He grieves.”

“And I grieve. But we must not stay outspoken. Do you disobey a prince in his attire, after a battle so tedious?”

“No sir.”

“Then you’ll do as I say, and bring him after bringing me to the chamber.”

“Yes sir.”

Scott is lead to his room and he feels sick with grief and heavy with duty. He feels like he must confront what is given to him, that now, harder than before, he must fight for what he truly belongs to. And that is the title of King. Such golden opinions strike him, with the words of his battle brother stick-  _ the Angels shall sing for you, The dead will rise to praise you. Scott, the holiest king of all.  _ His heart tremors at the thought, he thinks that he wants Derek to stand no chance against him.

Tossing his armor aside and tossing his shirt thereafter. He rests to look around the room before accepting the clothes the chamberlain returns with. 

“Your uncle should be here in good time.” 

Scott nods, using the wash basin to wipe himself down from the dirt and soot. Making himself clean with quick swipes, between dry and wet towels. Once rid of the dirt, he dresses in a shirt and repeats the same for his lower body. The chamberlain that aids him is hesitant and Scott seems to care less. As he’s dressing in his pants, Peter invites himself in, without knocking. He is in all black, his blue eyes strike a fancy to his face, standing out as if they were oceans on dry land, an aura on a black night, lightening on a dreaded rain sky. The bags beneath them are sunken. 

“So he’s really dead?”

“They should be wrapping him in the vatican now. As we arrived, the bells chimed.”

“They greet their new king with valor.”

“He watched his father drown. I had never seen him so shocked, he was running the mile until it happened and suddenly he stops, he’s so shocked. I never seen him that shocked.”

“How did it happen? Who- Who did this to him?”

“A traitor.”

“A traitor?” 

Scott nods. “Indeed. Fights beside the king, then when the Enemy was warded, he sheathe the sword through his body, he thrust it side ways, slicing the inside then pulls out. The death seemed instant.”

“Good God and heaven…” Peter whispers, eyes clouded with tears. “I should have gone-”

“It’s not your fault. You were protecting the castle.”

“Is he dead? The traitor?”

“I didn’t see it happen, but Stiles had saw him and he ne’er spoke a name. But I know who, and he disappeared like a ghost on the moore of the battle.”

“How… what witchcraft is he seizing that he disappears?”

“I know not of it. But Stiles is set on finding him and burning it all to the ashes of earth.”

“Burning what to the ashes of earth?” 

“His kingdom.”

“The prince of Germany?”

Scott nods. “The prince of Germany betrayed us. He killed the king.”

“Then don’t bother killing him, get him alive and give him hell on earth.”

Scott stares at him before looking to the ground. “That’s a plan that Stiles can execute, I cannot… not from my heart. This is his vengeance not mine. That was his father, not mine.”  

Peter nods. “Then so be it, we will tell him after the proceedings tomorrow. And… Your mother sent a letter.”

“For me, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“What about?”

“A woman by the name of Kate Argent is being tried for witchcraft… Her niece belongs to the woman’s brother Argentum, and she’s about your age. She thinks you’d make a good match.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“So am I to go home to meet her?”

“I’ve sent for her. She’ll be coming here in the coming weeks or months.”

“Of course….” 

It felt a prayer answered, a step closer to God, a step closer to Glory, a step closer to Gold.  _ And if she’s strong, the crown is his.  _

  
  


Lydia kneeled beside the bath, kissing him softly as she ran the cloth down his chest. A hundred chamberlains could stand to do it, but she wouldn’t let another touch him. Not so intimately and not so personally. The man that stood for her was hers. “What troubles you? It clouds your eyes and your thoughts lay silent on me tonight,” She whispers.

“Nothing that I’m ready to burden you with love…” he rasps. “Lay silent on the sands of ignorance, perhaps you’ll sleep the nights I’ve not slept.”

“Thee worries more in a day than I have in a life. I’m stronger than thee yet.”

“I don’t doubt thee. I never have… Just it’s a stress I overtake upon my self. I shame to admit it yet.”

“Admit to me the worst of sins, I’d still forgive thee. What have you?”

“A traitor slays my father and I had fell so shocked I lost sight of him. Scott tells that he disappeared with no sight caught of him-”

“Who is he?”

“I speak it not.”

“So we feign him a witch and a traitor? Do we burn or hang him?”

“I run it by Peter before I dare do a thing.”

“Aye…” 

She washes his now clean neck with the cloth before kissing it. “What do I do?”

“Find him and take all he has. Ruin him. Don’t spare him the luck of a day nor day and a half. He should see you and let terror fill his every organ and soul. Unsex him for the womenly attire, to shed his manly skin and so face him with the terror of a bombastic devil. You should let him see thy face, so pure and golden in all other late, and know that death is upon him.”

Stiles clings to every word, and turns to her to kiss her from the edge of the bath. “So unsex him and deprive him, scare him to the bare wits… what have we else to do when I catch him? Burn his villages… take his kingdom…”

“Take his king. Take his power. Take every morsel of gold or silver he ever had. Take his wife prisoner and make her pay the rest of her life. If I execrate her, I’d kill her with my own knife.”

“And his children should he bear any?”

She thinks. “We should take them and create better people than their parents were.”

“And if they’re devils?”

“Throw them from the cliffs, let the ocean devour them for an evening meal.”

Stiles kisses the side of her neck, and she kisses his chin. “Speaking of children, we should be done here. I’d like to dress and meet the Girl.”

“You’ll love her. She’s the most beautiful babe you’d ever seen. Thine eyes will lay on her and sparkle with tender joy.”

“No joy is so tender than it is when I see thee, my greatest love, my fruitful companion.”

“My husband, a romantic,” she jests.

“My wife, more brutal than the man she married.”

“You’re inspiration.”

“Truly… My greatest muse.” 

She kisses the bow of his upper lip and he presses fully to her lips. “Is thee going to wear my robe for the rest of the night?”

“Truly, unless thee plans on taking it off my fragile body.”

“Later love.” 

Dressed and ready for dinner, Stiles enters the Childs chamber, going to her crib where her peaceful and small body sleeps, chest puffing slowly and exhaling even slower. He picks her up softly, kissing her head tenderly. Lydia stands beside him, watching them with soft eyes.

“My darling princess. How quiet she sleeps.”

“Careful not to wake her, then she’d be slave to my breast and tied to my arms. She refuses to leave me when she wakes.”

“The love for her mother is strong. And could you blame her? I would be slave to your breast and tied to your arms if I hadn’t any social manners.”

Lydia giggles, shying a bit. “Don’t be so filthy in front of a child.”

“She doesn’t understand.”

“But I do and it made me blush.”

“So blush, the more beautiful it makes you to know I’ve affected you.”

Lydia smiles and he looks down to his sleeping child, kissing her head. “The Holy Roma she will become.”

“What?”

“I said she will become the Holy Roma. It’s a title you deserve more than me… but her… she will be just like you. Look at her face, she looks like you. And her mind? Spare it to be ours combined… she’s indestructible. A divine force.” 

“She would make the strength to be-”

“The Holy Roma my love. Our daughter is good enough to be the best of the best.”

“And our sons?”

“Stand beside her in every battle and every walk, and every everything. Our children are going to be a unit of their own.”

Lydia nods, watching her husband kiss her daughters head. She felt pride swell in her. “We’re a unit, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. Otherwise I would not look to you for guidance.”

She toes up to press her nose to his cheek and smiles, cradling the baby kissing her soft head. The world may be cruel but the red that lights it was golden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave your thoughts in the comments!


End file.
